Under His Skin
by squirrelgirl295
Summary: The Ministry of Magic came up with a program to rehabilitate Death Eaters by assigning them to serve Muggleborns, and Hermione is forced to play host to none other than Lucius Malfoy. What will happen when they're forced to live and work together?
1. Chapter 1

Hermione slumped against the wall by the fireplace, still breathing hard. Her cheeks were burning, but not with the usual blushes that appeared in every awkward situation. No, she was flushed because she was enraged.

Wiping the ash from her trip by Floo power off of her shoes, Hermione stepped into her living room and turned on the lights. How could anyone possibly have thought that _this_ would be a good idea? Her, of all people? Did the Minister of Magic not remember what was between the two of them?

She flopped down on the sofa with a huff and pulled off her heavy outer robes. They had all gone mad, she decided. Nobody in their right mind would have assigned Lucius Malfoy to be Hermione Granger's personal servant.

It had been four years since the end of the war, and a couple of people who had been complicit in Voldemort's attempted takeover of the wizarding world had been released from Azkaban early for good behavior. One of those, of course, was Malfoy. The Ministry had decided that in order to make up the foul acts that the Death Eaters had committed against non-purebloods, they would have to serve those very same muggleborns as servants, until they had been deemed officially rehabilitated. Any infraction of the strict guidelines would be punished by an immediate return to Azkaban for some indefinite amount of time.

Hermione had just returned from a meeting at the Ministry where she had been informed of that decision, and also that none other than Malfoy would be her Death-Eater-turned-servant. _Nothing about this could possibly go well,_ she thought to herself. At least they had given her a whole evening to prepare for her new servant, she thought sourly. Malfoy would be living in her house during his servitude, so that he could serve her "more effectively." _Kill me in my sleep is more likely_ , thought Hermione. Of course she would ward all the rooms and charm everything so that it couldn't be used as a weapon, but still, how could she be expected to relax with a Death Eater sleeping under her roof?

At the thought of sleeping, Hermione stood up from the couch and moved into the kitchen to put the kettle on. When her tea was done brewing, she fished the chamomile tea bag out with a spoon and brought the steaming mug into her room, where it sat on her bedside table as she undressed and brushed her teeth before bed. She sipped it slowly as she read from the heavy volume of tenth-century wizarding poetry, and when the cup was empty, she switched off her lamp and settled into her pillows. Malfoy would be arriving in the morning, and she still wasn't quite sure how she could possibly prepare herself for that. Surprisingly, considering her mind was roiling with thoughts of what the next day might bring, Hermione slipped easily into sleep.

" _Mudblood," Malfoy snarled, brandishing an impossibly sharp wand. He pressed it to her throat, where it immediately cut her skin and caused her to bleed. "You disgust me. I am a Malfoy, and our blood has been pure for centuries. I will never serve you. You filth, you whore, you disgusting excuse for a pitiful witch! I will KILL YOU!"_

Hermione sat up with a gasp, her heart beating fast. Her sheets were tangled around her legs and her hair was damp with sweat. She switched on her lamp and concentrated on calming her breathing. She glanced at the clock on her bedside table, which was enchanted to light up and display the time only when it was looked at. There was still half an hour until her alarm was supposed to wake her up, and an hour and a half until Malfoy was supposed to arrive. Hermione knew she wouldn't be able to fall easily asleep again, so she swung her legs over the edge of her bed and stood up with a yawn. Twisting briefly to stretch out her back, Hermione grabbed her towel from the back of the door and made her way to the bathroom. As the tub was filling with hot water, she brushed out her hair and paused to look at her own face looking back at her in the mirror.

Her hair was still voluminous and curly, but less frizzy than it had been in her youth. She had high cheekbones and her teeth had been properly sized ever since she had had Draco Malfoy's jinx fixed in the Hospital Wing in their fourth year. She was of average height, but her slim body made her seem quite petite, especially with her pale skin and dark eyes that drew the eye with their contrast. With a sigh at the uncontrollable state of her curls, Hermione shut off the water running in the tub and stepped into the warm water. Sinking down in the tub until the scented bubbles tickled her chin, Hermione sighed and gazed up at the paint on the bathroom ceiling. It was peeling in places from the humidity of the bathroom air, and rivulets of moisture were making their way down the cool windowpane above the tub. The flat wasn't exactly luxurious, but it was clean and comfortable. Although that might all be about to change, Hermione reminded herself. She had a spare bedroom, luckily, which was where she kept most of her muggle possessions in boxes. It was sparsely furnished with a double bed and dresser, and when her school friends visited they usually slept in there if they stayed the night. Now Lucius Malfoy would be living there for some uncertain amount of time, and Hermione would have to share her space with him.

Hermione shuddered at the thought of running into him in the bathroom as one or the other competed their morning routines. There was only the one bathroom in the flat, and though Hermione had once experimented with magically extending a closet in the guest bedroom to serve as a second bathroom, the plumbing was uncertain at best when she tried to magically link it to the muggle water and sewage lines, and it was just easier not to have to worry about the plumbing malfunctioning on some poor unsuspecting guest. Lying there in the bathtub Hermione considered trying to spell the extra bathroom into existence again and just making Malfoy deal with it if the toilet's contents didn't end up where they should, but eventually decided it would pose too much of a problem. They would just have to set up strict shower times and whatnot, and hope that everyone remembered to knock before entering.

Hermione got out of the tub, pulled to stopper out to drain the water, and wrapped herself in a towel that she warmed with a quick charm. With a jet of warm air from her wand she dried and reshaped her hair into it's normal curly mass, and then returned to her bedroom to get dressed.

Rather than the muggle clothes that she usually wore at home on weekends, Hermione selected a set of casual robes. She didn't need to give Malfoy any extra reasons to mock her blood status.

Sitting with another cup of tea and a scone for breakfast, Hermione tried to concentrate on reading the Daily Prophet, but her mind kept wandering. There was an article mentioning the new decree, but it didn't mention what former Death Eaters were part of the new rehabilitation program, or to which muggleborns they had been assigned. It was ridiculous, Hermione thought, setting her teacup down with more force than necessary, that they had only been given some twelve hours to prepare their homes for hosting Death Eaters. The press release from the Ministry made it sound like this was a wonderful thing for both Death Eaters and the muggleborns they had to serve, because the former would be "cured" of their murderous tendencies by being forced to respect their new masters, and the latter would have live-in servants to cater to their every whim. All of the muggleborns were receiving a stipend for the expenses of housing an additional person, but no amount of gold could possibly make up for the stress and basic unpleasantness of living under the same roof as Lucius Malfoy, Hermione thought with a scowl.

At that thought, she heard a cough from the fireplace in the living room. Putting her dishes into the sink, she braced herself. Kingsley's head was floating in the flames, looking at her guiltily.

"I really am sorry about this, Miss Granger. But, as I told you yesterday, this is important for the wizarding world and the muggle world too. It goes beyond the unfortunate fact that this might not be enjoyable for you for the next few months. May we come through?"

Hermione nodded, her mouth in a grim line. Kingsley's head turned and receded for a moment, and then the fire burned bright green for a moment and two figures were stepping over Hermione's hearth.


	2. Chapter 2

The first thing she noticed about Lucius Malfoy was that while his face was haggard and his hair was less perfectly smooth and straight than before, he was still dressed elegantly in black brocade robes and a red silk cravat. He straightened his cuffs with a twitch of his wrists and looked haughtily around the room, raising his eyebrows at the muggle television set and a few non-moving photographs of Hermione and her parents.

"Well, there we are," Kingsley said uncomfortably. "Really, I am sorry about this. Lucius, this house will be monitored at all hours from the ministry for signs of violent activity. Miss Granger will have possession of your wand, and it is up to her when and if you will be permitted to use it." He drew Lucius's wand from his robes and handed it to Hermione. She took it gingerly, as though it would bite her, and looked at Malfoy. He was staring at her hands, which were idly tracing the shape of the silver snake's head handle.

 _He's probably disgusted that a mudblood is toughing his wand,_ " Hermione thought. She met Malfoy's eyes with a challenging raise of her eyebrows, but his expression remained cold and implacable.

"Okay, I'll leave you to it," Kingsley said, breaking the tense silence. "Hermione, all you have to do is shout 'auxilio,' whether you have your wand or not, and a spell will be activated that will send our best aurors immediately to your home. Of course, you understand that this is only to be used in the event of an attack from your servant."

A quiet snort sounded from Malfoy's direction at the word 'servant', but his eyes were downcast once more and his face remained so still, that Hermione thought she must have imagined it.

"Good luck!" Kingsley said cheerfully. He stepped back into the fireplace and, with a rush of green flames, was gone. The moment the fire returned to its normal hue, Malfoy looked up and met Hermione's eyes.

"Well, Granger, what would you like me to do? Wash the floors, scrub the dishes, perhaps braid your hair?" he said with a sneer. Hermione was taken aback for a moment. Before Kingsley had left, he had remained servile and reserved, but now his eyes flashed and his voice was the silky-smooth mocking tone that she remembered from their encounters when she was still a student.

"Please call me Hermione, or Miss Granger if Hermione seems too informal, but I don't like being called Granger. I'm not a cowering student in Professor Snape's potions lab anymore." Hermione spoke firmly and civilly, meeting Malfoy's cold gaze.

"Very well, Miss Granger. My question still stands. Where would you like me to begin?" Lucius asked.

"You might technically be a servant here, but I'm not a slave-driver. I'll show you to your room and you can get comfortable, and maybe this afternoon we can talk about what you can help with."

Malfoy raised an eyebrow but said nothing. Hermione led him to the guest bedroom and he followed her, carrying his small suitcase. Hermione showed him the closet where he could hang his clothes, and looked at his dressy robes once more.

"I hope you brought something a little less formal to wear day-to-day. I'm certainly not going to be wearing my dress robes all the time, and if I do ask you to help with the cleaning, those aren't really practical."

"I was allowed to to return to my Manor only briefly before my wife's funeral. These are the only clothes of my own that I had with me, and I didn't desire to be seen in the streets in the rags that the Ministry has so thoughtfully given me to wear while I _serve_ you," he said with a curled lip.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "I'll see about getting you some other clothes if you'd like."

"Don't you roll your eyes at me, you Mudblood brat," Lucius hissed, taking a threatening step forward, before he seemed to remember himself. He cleared his throat and looked down, but made no apology.

Hermione's grip on her wand loosened from where she had begun to draw it from her robes.

"You will _never_ call me that again. Do not forget that you are a guest in my home, and at the first sign of aggression I can have you sent straight back to Azkaban. Do not test me," Hermione bit out, her eyes flashing. He wasn't the only one with a temper.

Malfoy met her eyes with his frosty gaze once more and nodded almost imperceptibly. Hermione took at as assent and made to leave the room.

"You can unpack your things and keep them in here. It will be your space for the duration of your stay. I'll prepare lunch in about an hour. Please come to the kitchen then," she added, pausing at the doorframe. Then she closed the door behind her and leaned heavily against the wall of the hallway. Would every encounter be like that, a tense standoff?

She could hear Lucius moving around in the room, opening drawers and presumably unpacking his small trunk. She moved back towards the living room and sat down on the couch. It would be a long couple of months.

oOo

"You want me to do _what_ , Mudblood?" Malfoy hissed. It had been two days since his arrival, and things were not going very well. The first day, after lunch, she had suggested he familiarize himself with where things were kept in the flat. She also gave him free reign of her bookshelves so that he would have something to do in his leisure time. He scoffed at the Muggle literature she had, and turned up his nose at the few Muggle appliances she had in the apartment (he could scoff all he wanted, but a microwave was much easier to control than a warming spell).

Yesterday she had taken him out shopping to get him some more practical clothes (the Ministry had given him threadbare greyish robes, which would be totally unsuitable for extended wear). He had followed her in haughty silence, with the occasional snarky comment as they ran errands. Hermione had taken to biting her tongue at his caustic remarks, although she wasn't sure if that was really the right plan of action. If he was supposed to be become accepting of the Muggle world, shouldn't she defend the various Muggle practices he sneered at? She tried for a few hours, but soon gave up. She would have to pick her battles to keep from losing her mind (and her temper, which was fraying quickly).

"I asked you to help me fold the laundry," Hermione said tersely. Malfoy's face had gone pale with rage.

"You cannot expect me to touch your filthy Mudblood garments?" he demanded incredulously.

"They're clean. And I've asked you not to use that word. It is offensive."

"Offensive?" he laughed. "It's what you are. Or are you too dim to understand that? Merlin knows how you managed to graduate from Hogwarts with your limited intellect. I will not touch your foul garments, girl, for no matter how many times you put them through that moronic Muggle washing contraption, they will never be rid of the stink of your dirty blood."

Now it was Hermione whose eyes flashed with fury. She pulled her wand from her sleeve and flicked it at Malfoy. Ropes shot from the tip, binding him tightly to the kitchen chair. He snarled with rage, but she cast a quick _silencio_ and no sounds emerged from his lips. Hermione braced her hands on the arms of the chair where his forearms were tied, rigid as he tried to break the bonds.

"Sit still and listen," Hermione said, her face only inches from his. "You, _Lucius Malfoy_ , are living in my home. Believe me, I am taking even less pleasure from this than you are. I am doing my very best to remain civil, but you _will_ obey me when I ask you to do something. I am providing you with shelter, food, and clothing, and I expect at least a modicum of respect in return. I'm not asking you to clean the toilet with your toothbrush. I'm asking you to sit by my side and fold clothing!" Malfoy glared back at her for a minute, disgust curling his lip. Eventually he broke their eye contact and nodded once, tersely. Hermione released his bindings and stood back as he got up, rubbing his wrists where the ropes had left welts.

He followed her silently to the living room and sat on the opposite couch from her, only snorting quietly when she turned on a Muggle movie to watch as they folded clothes. She could have done it by magic, but folding clothes had been her chore at home with her parents ever since she was a little girl, and it had always been a kind of meditative time.

Lucius clumsily tried to get her clothing into some semblance of neatness, and many times Hermione caught him watching her as she deftly folded shirts into neat squares. Clearly this was not something he had ever done before.

When Lucius was nearing the bottom of his basket, Hermione realized suddenly that that was where all of her delicates were… namely her bras and knickers. Servant to her he might be, but she did not want him running his fingers over her undergarments. She slid the basket over to her side of the room with a flick of her wand, and snatched the pair of lacy briefs he had just picked up from his fingers with another muttered spell. He met her eyes and smirked, eyeing the array of lacy bras still visible from the basket that was now at her feet.

"What's wrong, Mudblood? Is there some reason you don't want my hands on those?" he said, his eyes glinting devilishly. Hermione rolled her eyes at the use of the derogatory term, but let it slide. She levitated the laundry basket into her bedroom and out of his sight, and he laughed openly at her. She was surprised by the lack of contempt in the laugh - he seemed honestly amused, not just mocking her as he usually did. Maybe, with time, this could work.


	3. Chapter 3

It was Monday morning, and Hermione shut off her magical alarm with a lazy flick of her wand and swung her feet over the side of her bed. eyes with the back of her wrists. She stood up, groaning and yawning, and rubbed her Her hair was a tangled mess around her head, and her limbs felt like lead as she grabbed her towel and stumbled through her dark room towards the bathroom. Why was she so tired? she wondered, tripping slightly on the hall carpet and catching herself on a table. She hadn't stayed up that late. She pushed open the bathroom door. It was probably just the stress of —

"Can I help you, Mudblood?" came the silky voice. Hermione stopped dead, really opening her eyes for the first time that morning. Lucius Malfoy was standing at the sink with a comb in his hand, but the sight of his long blonde hair wet from the bath wasn't what stopped her. He was shirtless, wearing only a pair of dark blue flannel pajama pants that hung from his hipbones as though the slightest movement would displace them. His skin was flawlessly smooth and sculpted like a Greek statue, but for the stark black of the Dark Mark tattooed on his inner wrist. His hair was dripping down his back and chest, and water glistened on his stomach in the light from the mirror.

Hermione realized she was staring, and glanced up, terrified that he had noticed. But he too, was staring at her, and she realized with a frisson of panic that she was only wearing her tiny sleep shorts and a thin camisole that had not only ridden up to show several inches of her stomach, but was clinging to her nipples, which stood out in the cool morning air of the flat. His gaze on her body felt like a physical touch. Her stomach flip-flopped as his eyes finally met hers, and her tongue darted out to wet her suddenly dry lips as his eyes met hers. It was not his usual icy glare. His eyes were darker, the irises like molten steel, and she could see his chest rising as he breathed. She watched as a drop of water made its way from his hair, over his chest, down the undulations of his abs, until it was absorbed by the waistband of his low-slung pants at the indentation of his pelvis.

"Sorry! Sorry! I — I forgot that — I didn't mean — Sorry!" Hermione stuttered, flushing crimson. She turned and fled the bathroom, the door thudding closed behind her. She stopped in her room, breathless. Her whole body was hot and her face was frozen with the shock of what had just happened. She looked in the mirror, and sure enough, she was a wreck. Her shorts were so far down on her hips that the lace waistband of her knickers was clearly visible. The shorts were old and thin, and the outline of her backside was very evident, as was the exact shape of her breasts beneath the thin top. She tried to run her fingers through her hair and gave up after a few seconds when her hands got ridiculously tangled.

She heard Malfoy open the bathroom door and shuffle down the hall back to his room, and she took a calming breath. It was just the normal awkwardness of sharing a house with someone. Except that someone happened to be Lucius Malfoy, and the sight of his body was making her heart pound with more than just fear.

After another silent breakfast, Hermione pushed back her empty bowl and set down the Daily Prophet. Malfoy looked up at her with one aristocratically raised eyebrow.

"So, I have to go to work today. I'm not too keen on leaving you here alone with all of my things, no matter how I ward them against your meddling. I'm going to bring you to the Ministry and you can stay in my office. I'll find you something to do."

He looked like he was about to object, but then he closed his mouth and said nothing. Taking that as acceptance of the plan, Hermione pushed back her chair, gathered her cloak and purse, and stepped towards Malfoy for apparation. She held out her hand and Malfoy took it, but just as she was about to disapparate them both, he raised a hand in objection.

"This is terrible form for side-along apparition. We must have far more contact. Unless, of course, you want to see me splinched?" he said with a curl of his lip.

"Of course not," Hermione sighed. She knew that they should have more physical contact for it to go smoothly, but she was loathe to touch any more of the ex-Death Eater than necessary. Gritting her teeth, she turned to face him and wrapped one arm around his shoulders, which caused her to stand on her toes. Still, her head came up barely to his chin. She suppressed a shriek as one of his hands crept around her waist, pulling her body flush to his. She swallowed, suddenly made dizzy by the scent of his skin, and performed the apparition spell that instantly transported them to the entrance of the ministry.

Hermione was slightly off-balance when they landed, breathing hard from the horrible sensation of being squeezed through a rubber tube. She instinctively grabbed on to Malfoy's lapel with her free hand and his arm slid from her waist onto her hip. They both froze, faces inches apart, breathing the same air on the busy street outside the employee entrance to the Ministry of Magic.

Hermione stepped quickly back, straightening her robes and running a hand through her hair. She cleared her throat and gestured for Malfoy to enter the bathroom where they would flush themselves down into the Ministry atrium. She followed him in, taking a deep breath and wondering what in the world had just happened.

Hermione was lucky to be a senior enough employee at the Ministry to warrant her own office. It wasn't huge, but there was a door between her and the rest of the bustling Department of International Magical Cooperation. She sat behind her desk, reviewing a case involving several Spanish wizards and a house that had been the subject of a poorly executed Floating Charm on a Northumberland lake. Malfoy sat across from her, his fingers idly drumming the surface of her polished wood desk, watching Hermione like a hawk as she made notes, sucked on the tip of her quill, and otherwise went about her normal activities.

"What?!" she finally exploded, having glanced up and met Malfoy's rapt gaze for the umpteenth time that morning.

"Nothing. I'm surprised the Ministry would be so foolish as to entrust important international affairs to someone like you," he said frostily.

"Ah, yes, someone like me," Hermione retorted sarcastically. "How about I take you down to the Auror Headquarters and see what all the veterans of the War now employed there will do to someone like _you_?"

Hermione had brought him into the Ministry under a glamour which had changed his hair to a gray-streaked brown and given him a full beard to hide his recognizable profile. There was no reason she shouldn't bring him to work with her, but she didn't want to become fodder for either workplace whispers or the trashy Prophet columns. As such, nobody actually knew that Hermione was spending the day with a former Death Eater sitting across the desk from her, and Hermione intended it to stay that way. Lucius probably could have called her on her bluff that she would throw him to the Aurors, but he stayed silent.

"Fine, how about I give you something to do. See that filing cabinet? It's filled with cases for the Magical Office of Law, but some of them have been closed and some are still open and under investigation. There's no good way to do it by magic, so I've been putting it off. You can sort them into three piles: Closed cases to be archived, inactive but unresolved cases, and cases currently being investigated. Will that be acceptable?" she asked sarcastically.

Malfoy nodded curtly and stood up from his chair. Hermione watched, amused, as he settled onto the carpet and pulled open the first drawer of the filing cabinet. His eyes widened as he realized it had been made larger by an undetectable extension charm, and there were probably thousands of files crammed into each drawer. She observed him with interest as he pulled a black ribbon from his pocket and tied back his hair into a smooth ponytail at the nape of his neck. His hair was thick, she noted, so thick that she would have trouble wrapping just one hand around the circumference.

Blushing at the thought of her hands anywhere near Malfoy's hair, she returned to her work, glancing up only occasionally to gauge his progress. She noticed him reading more than just the case updates, she found him scanning the details of the investigations with rapt attention. She said nothing, and smiled to herself as she continued her work.


	4. Chapter 4

"Surely this man can't be condemned simply for entering a dragon hatching zone? There's no evidence he intended to steal or tamper with any of the eggs or newborn dragons. And isn't getting roasted nearly to death punishment enough?"

Hermione looked up from her papers, surprised. Malfoy had been working in silence, for the most part, for the past week. The only sounds in the office were the scratching of her quill and the rustling of papers as he sorted through the piles.

"Which case is that?" Hermione asked, putting down her quill and taking in the sight of Lucius Malfoy sitting cross-legged on the carpet, reading through a folder.

"Wales, 2004. Italian wizard wandered into an active Welsh Green nesting site, got burned to a crisp and was charged with trespassing and knowingly threatening a protected species. Control of Magical Creatures and Magical Law Enforcement took the case at first, but since he's Italian it was passed on to International Cooperation," Lucius said, reading through the case summary.

"Right. That was a tricky one. Since he's not a British national he can't be expected to have known the site was there, but as dragons are a matter of international relations and all citizens of countries inhabited by them, of which Italy is one, are required to know the signs of an active breeding ground, it seems to have been sheer stupidity on his part. But he's claiming that our Ministry purposefully hid the nesting grounds with the hope of entrapping an unwary hiker, which is of course ridiculous, and then the Italian ministry got involved and claimed it was dangerously poorly marked… everyone made a mountain out of a molehill, and so that case has been inactive for years while the poor man recovers from his wounds."

"Ah. And dragon burns are notoriously difficult to heal," Malfoy said, pity in his voice. Hermione looked at him, surprised.

"Is that _compassion_ I hear in your voice, Malfoy?"

"Lucius. And I just happen to know how unpleasant dragon burns can be," he said, turning up his nose.

Hermione raised her eyebrows at the request to call him by his first name and smiled to herself. It appeared that he was warming up to her. He hadn't called her 'Mudblood' in a few days, which was a start.

"Oh? Did you have an unfortunate encounter with a dragon?" Hermione asked, hoping to keep the amiable conversation going.

"Mind your own business, Mudblood," he snarled, his temper suddenly turning foul. _So much for warming up to me,_ thought Hermione sourly. With a sigh, she stood up and marched over to where he was still sitting on the floor.

"For what I hope will be the last time, _Lucius_ , do not call me that. It is derogatory and unpleasant, and if you don't want to spend my work hours locked in your bedroom, you'll watch your tongue." She couldn't summon the anger necessary to really give him a good telling-off. It was the end of the week, and Hermione was tired. Nevertheless Lucius sprang to his feet, his eyes flashing.

"I'll call you whatever I wish, you little Mudblood bitch," he snarled. Shocked and infuriated by the venom in his words, Hermione took a step forward and raised her hand to slap him. With lightning-quick reflexes, he caught her wrist in an iron grip and forced in back to her side. He took a step forward, fury etched in every line on his face, so that their chests were nearly pressed together. Hermione gasped as her wrist was twisted unpleasantly in his grasp, and she was forced to look up into his cold, mask-like face by his other hand grasping her chin.

" _Never_ attempt to strike me again," he whispered quietly. Hermione could feel his voice rumbling in his chest where they were pressed together. "I may be your servant, but I will always be better than you. Never forget that."

Hermione twisted in his grasp, but his hand on her wrist was like a manacle.

"Let go of me, you beast," Hermione hissed, eyeing her wand where it lay out of reach on her desk. She was surprised when Lucius Malfoy laughed out loud, a rich, baritone laugh, and released her.

"A beast, my dear?" You've seen nothing of how _beastly_ I can be." He clearly meant it as a threat; his eyes were dark and burning with anger, but Hermione shivered and it wasn't entirely with fear. Unfortunately, he saw her shiver, and smiled predatorily. "You'd like that, wouldn't you? You're craving a bit of _wildness_ in your predictable life?"

Hermione scoffed and stepped away, where his scent wasn't filling her nostrils and she could think a little more clearly. Malfoy crossed his arms and leaned back against the wall of her office, still smirking at her.

"That's it. We're leaving," Hermione huffed. She couldn't get into a big fight with him here without her coworkers noticing. Besides, it was almost four o'clock on Friday. Nobody would question it if she left now.

She cast a disillusionment charm over Malfoy, ignoring his grumbling at the unpleasant feeling. She gathered a couple of files in case the urge to work over the weekend struck her, turned out the lights, and locked her office door behind her.

With Malfoy trailing hidden behind her, Hermione made her way through the Ministry and out to one of the many fireplaces in the Atrium. Shoving Malfoy's almost invisible form into the fireplace, she hoped no one would notice the flare of green flames that seemingly didn't correspond to anyone's departure. She followed him a moment later, closing her eyes as she whirled through the fireplaces of London. When she arrived at her own hearth she stomped out, ready to furiously upbraid Malfoy for his creepy insinuations. She wasn't prepared for his still-invisible form to be standing right in front of the fireplace, so she smacked into him and sent them both tumbling roughly onto the carpet.

Wriggling about to retrieve her wand from her pocket, Hermione lifted the disillusionment charm. It was only when Malfoy breathed in sharply that she realized she was lying practically on top of him, and her contortions to reach her wand had brought certain parts of their anatomy in very close, very frictional contact.

She stopped still, her wand gripped loosely in her fist. Malfoy stared up at her, his gray gaze inscrutable. He lifted one hand slowly to her face and used his thumb to softly stroke one cheekbone.

"You had a bit of soot," Malfoy murmured, showing the black smear on his thumb as proof. Hermione cleared her throat suddenly and scrambled off him, offering a hand to help him stand from the floor. He took it and stood, holding her hand a moment longer than necessary. Hermione dropped it like it had burned her.

Malfoy stepped back, his trademark sneer once more in place. Hermione shook her head in bewilderment as he turned away and marched off to his room. He was so ridiculously mercurial. One moment he was practically caressing her face, and the next he was back to treating her like scum.

She had never been so frustrated with someone in her life. They could spend all day together working peacefully in silence, and sometimes he would make quips about the cases and they would share a laugh. Sometimes he would compliment her on her cooking, and ever since that first Monday morning he had been very careful not to be in the bathroom in the mornings when she got up.

And then there were the times when he would snarl at her for no reason, insult her appearance or her home and call her 'mudblood.' As far as she could tell there wasn't anything in particular that triggered these attacks of foul temper, so she just did her best to steer clear of him when he was in a bad mood.

Hermione passed by the open door to Malfoy's room as she headed to her own room. He was lying on the bed with a book, his long legs crossed before him at the ankles. He glanced at her over the top of the book as she passed, and once again there was something inscrutable in his eyes. What was he thinking? Hermione wondered as she lay down on her own bed with her book of poems. There were still a couple of hours before she should start thinking about dinner. That was enough time to read a few poems at least… or maybe… she should just close her eyes and rest for a little while…

" _Her eyes, the brightest stars I see_

 _Her lips as dark as night_

 _Her eyes which dance and call to me,_

 _May she be mine tonight."_

Hermione sat up with a gasp. Lucius Malfoy was leaning over her, the volume of poetry that she had fallen asleep over in his hands. He smiled and shut the book with a snap.

"What are you doing, Malfoy?" she sighed.

"Waking you up. It's past eight o'clock, and I figured you had forgotten about dinner."

"Right. Sorry, I didn't mean to sleep for so long." Hermione sat up with a yawn. Lucius stood up and watched from the corner as she pulled on a sweater and smoothed her hair back from her forehead. She raised an eyebrow at his presence but brushed past him through the door into the hallway. He followed her into the kitchen and again watched her from a stool by the counter as she cut up vegetables for a salad and put some water on the stove to boil for pasta. Aided by magic dinner was ready in a few minutes, and they sat down to eat it in the same tense silence. At last, setting down her fork with a clang, she addressed him.

"What? What is it? Why have you been staring at me like that all evening?" she snapped.

"Like what?" Malfoy said coldly, feigning ignorance.

"Like I'm a specimen that you're trying to understand," Hermione said, raising an eyebrow when he looked momentarily surprised before schooling his features into impassivity once more.

"I've merely been wondering how the blood of two filthy muggles could possibly have mixed to successfully create such a powerful magical talent," he sneered, but Hermione could tell his heart wasn't in the insult.

"Well, the offspring of those 'filthy muggles' is currently in charge of your wellbeing, so if I were you I'd toe the line, Malfoy," she admonished him as she stood up and took their dishes to the sink, but she was puzzling over his words. It was almost a hidden compliment. He had admitted she was a formidable witch, which was certainly a step forward from calling her 'mudblood' at every opportunity.

"Lucius," he murmured, so softly she thought she had imagined it.

Hermione brought all the dishes to the sink and ran the water until it was hot, rolling up the sleeves of her sweater. It would be easy enough to do by magic, but it was part of the routine she had grown accustomed to growing up with Muggle parents, and she enjoyed the normalcy of it. She assumed Malfoy was still sitting at the table, doing nothing to help as usual, so she jumped and shrieked a little when his hands appeared to either side of hers on the edge of the sink. She could feel his breath on her neck, but no part of him was actually touching her.

"How?" he murmured, the warmth of his breath causing the little hairs on the nape of her neck to rise, and goosebumps erupted over her skin. "How does something so magical come from something so ordinary? How is _this_ the result of such an unmagical union?" he whispered, and she felt him take one of the curls at the nape of her neck between his fingers. He tugged gently and released it to spring back against her skin. "Why do _you_ get to succeed, you who came from _nothing,_ while _I_ am now a mere servant?" his voice changed to a low growl, and he grasped her waist roughly and spun her around to face him, so that the small of her back was pressed painfully against the edge of the sink.

"What are you doing?" Hermione breathed, her eyes wide with terror. His face was inches from hers, but his eyes were roving her skin as though searching for some visible answer to his questions.

"What is your secret? What lets you be so powerful, while the members of pureblood families that have been practicing magic for _centuries_ rot in Azkaban with their magic stripped from them? What lies beneath this perfect skin?" He bent his head to her neck and inhaled deeply. Hermione shivered as his hair trailed across her neck and down the front of her shirt.

"I'm just Hermione," she choked, trying not to move or breathe his musky scent.

"But what power runs in these veins," he continued, seeming not to have heard her. He lifted her hand from where it was trapped against her body and traced one finger along the shadowy blue lines on the delicate part of her wrist. As she watched, her entire body trembling, he brought her wrist to his lips and, so quickly she almost missed it, darted his tongue out to taste the skin there. As if some spell had been broken, Hermione snatched her hand back and tried to twist away from his restraining arms.

"Be still," he snarled, moving his body closer to hers to prevent her escape. With his hips pinning hers down and one of his legs inserted between her thighs, Hermione suddenly felt him, _there,_ hard and hot. She froze, hardly daring to breathe as his hands returned once again to her neck. As though holding a delicate bird he cupped her head, just under her jaw, his fingertips skimming the skin behind her ears. With the barest pressure he tilted her head back so she was forced to look into his eyes.

They were a stormy grey, unreadable as always, but burning with some new intensity.

"What have you done to me?" he whispered. "How have you ensnared me, you, you utterly ordinary yet utterly irresistible witch?" Hermione opened her mouth to protest, and suddenly his hands tightened on the back of her head and his lips were pressed firmly against hers. His mouth was hot and wet and insistent as it covered hers, and then he was gone. Hermione opened her eyes, not realizing she had closed them, in time to see Lucius Malfoy's white-blonde hair whipping out of sight around the kitchen door.

Still trembling, Hermione slid her back down the cabinet until she was sitting on the floor. She took a deep, shaky breathy and covered her eyes with her fists, pressing hard for a moment and then letting her head fall back against the cupboard with a thunk. What the hell had just happened?


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: Thanks for all the encouragement! This chapter is a bit of a short interlude before things get going again.

Hermione was sitting on her bed in her dark bedroom two hours later. She had taken a long hot bath, drunk her customary cup of chamomile tea, rubbed lotion on her legs and even applied what was supposed to be a relaxing face mask, but her body still felt strung as tightly as a wire. With cold fingers she traced her own lips, thinking that there ought to be some tangible difference since _whatever_ had happened, but they felt the same.

She would be lying if she hadn't noticed that the way he looked at her had changed. At first it had been open hatred and contempt, but now it was as though she was a mystery he was trying to unravel. Well, she wouldn't play whatever little game he was playing, she decided. She wouldn't be drawn in by his weirdly hypnotic eyes and silky voice. She would stay strong.

Hermione went to brush her teeth and her hair before bed, and when she came out of the bathroom Malfoy was standing against the wall opposite the door, waiting. He didn't say anything, but watched her wordlessly until she closed the door of her bedroom. She surreptitiously locked it behind her, and then laughed at herself for her paranoia. If anything, Malfoy had seemed more disturbed by what had happened than she had. He was unlikely to try anything, but Hermione still felt comforted as she fell asleep by the knowledge that there was a barrier between her and the man with the penetrative gaze and the hands that made her tremble with the slightest touch.

The rest of the weekend passed in the same tense silence. It wasn't the frosty, contemptuous silence of the first few days, it was like the sharp intake of breath that one takes before jumping into a cold pool. Something had to happen sooner or later, and neither of them knew what it would be.

Meals were spent with both engrossed in the newspaper, speaking only to request politely that some dish be passed over. Malfoy cleared dishes from the table without being asked, and he never ventured near her bedroom for the remainder of the weekend. Hermione wondered somewhat apprehensively what would happen on Monday when they would be forced into proximity with one another in order to apparate, but every time she thought of it she swiftly ignored it. Worrying wouldn't change anything.

When she emerged from her room dressed for work on Monday morning, she was surprised to find Malfoy already at the breakfast table. He had already set out the cereal and milk and boiled water for tea. Hermione raised an eyebrow; for the past couple of days he had been as unobtrusive as a ghost. She glanced at him with suspicion when he greeted her with a "Good morning," and offered her the front section of the Prophet.

"Am I to continue sorting those files?" he asked as she sat down and poured herself tea.

"Yes, I was thinking we'd continue with that, unless there's something else you would rather do?"

"Besides return to my Manor and continue with my life? No," he quipped, and once again Hermione paused, surprised. His cold, stiff demeanor had apparently been entirely turned around since their silent dinner the night before. Shaking her head in bemusement, she finished her breakfast and charmed their dishes to scrub themselves.

Malfoy was already waiting on the living room when Hermione had put on her cloak and set the daytime wards on the flat. Bracing herself for their first contact since Friday night, Hermione stepped up to Malfoy and grasped his shoulder. To her surprise, he didn't pull her closer as he had that first day, he merely rested one hand on her forearm, gripping her elbow as if they were about to begin waltzing. He looked down at her, his face as still as though it were carved from stone. Hermione gave a mental shrug, drew her wand, and disapparated them both with a crack.


End file.
